


Boatman

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, merman au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 23:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto finds him, washed up, dehydrated, woven in translucent webbing. </p><p>Of course they fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boatman

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Mal ~

The boatman is a kind man.

He always fishes what he needs, and just that. He always ties his boat tight, and leaves a light on for any traveler lost, by water, or by land. His home is always open, his front door always unlocked. He fills the birdfeeder; he tosses out scraps for the wolves at night.

And he always, always protects the lake.

Yes, the boatman is a kind man.

* * *

 

He’s pulling in his boat when he sees it; _it,_ a body, beached by the shore. It looks like a man, glistened in dried webbing, half covered in sand. The sun beats upon it, dying the skin, sizzling the poor soul.

Bokuto’s heartbeat quickens, and he makes quick work to tie up his boat beside his small home. He leaves his fish in the boat, fishing line and all, and stutters across the wood planks of the pier.

He runs across sand, falling to his knees, eyes searching the body for injury. Bokuto hovers a hand over the man’s nose; he’s breathing.

He looks down the body; it’s twirled in seaweed, and light, shimmery webbing. He is…quite beautiful, hair a black mess, his body incredibly toned and strong and tan.

Bokuto hums, and scratches behind his own neck. There really should be only _one_ reason he’d find a naked man beached by the lake. He reaches down, and tips the head to the side, just to see if-  _aha,_ there it is.

The simple mark of a mermaid; two sealed scars by his throat.

He wipes his hands on his jeans, and shifts a little, hand sliding under the warm back of the merman. He digs his fingers into flesh and lifts; he’s heavy, but Bokuto carries him easily. Naked legs sway against his arms, head tipping back, neck barred.

Bokuto walks towards the lake, walking a few feet in, the water slushing up to his knees. They’re old jeans, he figures.

When he sets the stranger into the water, slow, and gentle, he watches him breathe to life.

Large, brown eyes snap open, body thrashing, legs kicking. A foot catches Bokuto in the stomach, and he grunts out a laugh, stumbling backwards in the water. The merman continues to gasp, squirming, shifting, moving until his legs have bound together – thrashing until the scars on his neck open, peering into gills.

Bokuto grins, because _wow,_ what a beauty.  The merman looks frightened, strong body tensed, shark tail thrashing wildly.

Bokuto turns to leave with a smile – but there’s this one moment, this one, solitary moment, where the merman looks him in the eye. Bokuto pauses, blinking, arms by his sides, lake water ruining his jeans.

God, Bokuto has only seen a few mermaids in his life – just a few tails at sea, and a few songs at night - but this one _is stunning._ He stares, keeping Bokuto’s eyes locked with his own, before the pouty line of his lips twitches, and he thrashes, turning into the water, and disappearing beneath the murk.

* * *

 

Bokuto hums as he cooks dinner.

He doesn’t cook the fish, no. Tomorrow he’ll drive to the market, and sell them like he always does, every Sunday.

Today he has some old vegetables; they’re a little soggy, but they’ll be fine enough fried up in olive oil. He continues to hum, clean, and tired from the week’s work.

It’s a lonely job, yeah. His nearest neighbor is a mile down the road; and his _best friend_ is way towards the city, a good twenty-minute car ride out.

It’s fine, though. He doesn’t mind the birds, and the foresty smell. He likes his cozy lake house and his boat.

He figures, maybe, he’ll get lucky with the fish soon. Wasn’t there something lucky about seeing a mermaid?

He continues to hum, sizzling the veggies. Man, that merman was _gorgeous._ He was so tan and structured. He looked powerful, even.

The radio crackles next to him, occasionally catching static, even as Bokuto sits down to eat. Sometimes he wishes he got cellphone reception out here, but it’s okay. He likes it, he likes it.

* * *

 

The next week as he fishes, Bokuto thinks he might be going crazy.

For one, single, solidary moment, he thought he saw eyes, round and brown, peering from the water.

Bokuto clutches the edge of his boat and looks over the edge, eyebrows furrowed together, blinking rapidly. Only the waves look back, blue from the sky.

He clears his throat, “Hello?”

No answer.

He looks around; all he can see is the lake water, and the occasional bird circling above. He laughs to himself, and wipes his eyes with the bottom of his shirt.

“Wow, I’m going crazy.”

“Maybe.” A voice answers.

Bokuto about falls out of the damn boat, skittering backwards, looking this way and that for the source.

Ah, but there is none. Only Bokuto, his boat, and his fish.

He places a hand over his heart, and pants, _god_ he _is_ going crazy. He really needs to get some human interaction soon, or he might have to check himself into the loony bin.

* * *

 

_“The floor will all cave in at ten o'clock~.”_

Bokuto sings, shameless, as he hauls the ice chest from his boat.

_“My tired body to absorb the shock.”_

_“Years of decay will make a mess of me.”_

_“These rotted floor boards arch below my feet.”_

He walks towards his home, grinning, the sun already sinking, the crickets already thrumming. He continues to sing:

_“The flood will take us when we're in our sleep-“_

Wait.

Bokuto halts, suddenly, dropping the ice chest. _He_ stops singing, but another voice continues, soft, and warm:

_“This city swallowed by the oceans deep.”_

_“The ice will melt and then the seas will swell.”_

_“But this is not a thing on which to dwell.”_

As the voice sings, Bokuto searches, frantically. The moonlight does little aid; the small porch light on his home doesn’t do much either. All he sees is the dark lake, and the shimmery moon, harmonizing with the deep, honeyed voice. Bokuto sees nothing, yet the voice sings.

It doesn’t _seem_ threatening – so as the shock wears off, Bokuto lets himself smile. They are a _beautiful_ singer, whoever they are.

So he opens his mouth, finally getting his act together to sing the last line with them –

“ _There is nothing to, regret.”_

The slow, rolling waves of the lake ripple. Bokuto listens for movement, but hears nothing.

So, he calls out, “Hello?”

He gets no answer in return.

* * *

 

Ahh, summer. The sun is high, and the weather is warm – warm enough for Bokuto to finally clean out old knick knacks and nonsense he doesn’t need anymore. He turns his radio loud- not too loud, as to disturb the lake, or the forest – but he plays it to hum to as he beats the rugs, and hangs his clothes to dry.

He finds an old box filled with old trinkets he definitely doesn’t need. He keeps the pictures, but throws out the rotten picture frames. He also decides to chuck a few of his chairs; the upholstering is worn, and old. He can afford some new chairs, he figures.

He _just_ loaded the chairs into his truck, when he hears a voice.

“Are you gonna’ throw that out?”

Bokuto jolts, nearly tripping over his own foot. His eyes dart to the lakeside- but this time he _does_ see someone there.

A familiar someone, it seems.

That merman from the weeks before is perched happily on his stomach, right at the shoreline of the lake, tail flickering in the water. His head is in one hand, sharp, animalistic eyes staring forwards without question.

Bokuto pauses, and almost forgets to breathe. The merman blinks once, and Bokuto remembers to smile.

He relaxes, before he laughs, “Yeah! Ahaha, just some spring cleaning.”

“But it’s summer.”

“I missed spring.” Bokuto winks, twisting around to pick up the last box.

“What’s in that?” The merman tips his head, tail swishing. It’s a nice grey color, the markings like that of  a tiger shark.

Bokuto treads carefully, mindful as to not offend the stranger. A merman _speaking_ to a human is rare in and of itself.

“Just a few old things. Like napkin rings, and a couple action figures I kept for my nephew.” Bokuto grins. He lifts up the box. “Wanna’ see?”

The merman tips his head, and flicks the tip of his tail once more. He blinks, but shakes his head, “No. I don’t think I have any use for that.”

“What do you have use for, then?”

“Shiny things.” The merman coos, “Like coins.”

“Hmm.” Bokuto rummages through the old box, “I think I have a few in here.” He paws through the clutter, and does gather a few old, useless coins that had fallen in the box. He lifts them up, and they catch the light, “Aha!  Do you want them?” 

The merman stares, “I can have them?”

“Yep!” Bokuto grins, “But you have to tell me your name, first.”

The merman blinks, long and slow, before his pout turns into a smirk, “Iwaizumi.”

“Nice to meet you!” Bokuto grins, slowly crossing toward shim on the shore, “I’m Bokuto.”

“I know.” The merman sighs, and sits up, tail curling next to him. He reaches out his hand – Bokuto almost loses sight, for a moment, more caught up in the gentle webbing between his fingers. Still, he remembers to prod the coins into his palm gently.

“Y-you know?”

“You’re the boatman.” Iwaizumi takes the coins, and lifts them up to the light. “The kind boatman.”

Bokuto blinks, shifting backwards on the gravelly sand, “Ah, I am?”

“Yes. Many know your name.”

It’s a little strange, but Bokuto can’t deny the satisfaction he feels at that. “What? Really! I’m happy, ahaha.”

“Mm.” Iwaizumi hums, and his eyes flicker back up to Bokuto, still predatorial and dangerous. “You saved my life.”

“Ah…” Bokuto rubs behind his head, sheepishly, “Not really.”

“Yes. I was dehydrated.”

“Erm…how…how did you wash up like that anyways?”

“An idiot mistake on my part.” Iwaizumi says, “Still, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anythin’.” Bokuto grins, tucking his arms behind his back, and sauntering back towards land, “Hopefully I see you around, yeah?”

Iwaizumi stares, and stares, before his eyes soften, and he nods, tucking the coins in his hand, and sloshing back into the water.

Bokuto just stares, his chest warm, and his cheeks happy.

* * *

 

Bokuto doesn’t see him again until he’s out at sea. Two arms and a head pop up, scaring the living daylights out of him once again.

“ _Fuck._ ” He laughs, gathering his snapback, which had fallen, “You need to stop scaring me like that.”

“Humans are pretty jumpy.” Iwaizumi says, leaning his chin on his forearms as he rests against the rocking boat, “I’ve noticed.”

“You’ve noticed, have you?” Bokuto grins, and goes to check his line, “Are you the one that was following me?”

“A little.” Iwaizumi smirks, “You’re strange.”

“Well, you’re not so normal yourself.”

“Here.” Iwaizumi leans down, and throws a fish onto the boat. Bokuto pauses before he reaches for it. It’s already dead, a clean puncture mark around its neck. Bokuto looks up – searches the merman’s eyes for an explanation, but gets none, of course.

“T-thanks, man.” Bokuto takes it, and puts it in his icebox.

“Welcome.” Iwaizumi responds and rests his chin back down. Bokuto thinks maybe, _maybe_ he might see pink against his cheekbones – but Iwaizumi nods, “What’s that?”

“This?” Bokuto lifts up his fishing line.

“No.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “The thing on your head.”

“ _This?_ ” Bokuto reaches up for his snapback, “A hat? You guys don’t have those?”

“We can’t wear things on our heads.” Iwaizumi deadpans. “It’ll float away.”

“Right.” Bokuto nods. Still, he takes off the hat, and leans the short distance towards the merman treading water. Iwaizumi flinches back, eyes narrowing, but Bokuto is slow and careful in his movements, placing the hat calmly on Iwaizumi’s head, and twisting it backwards. “There!” He grins, “It looks good on you.”

Iwaizumi blinks slowly, before he raises his hand and traces the edge of the hat. His face is blank, but Bokuto can’t help but smile. He looks _flabbergasted,_ sharp nails tracing the hat.

“Do you travel on land a lot?” Bokuto asks, turning back to his line.

“…Yes, and no.” Iwaizumi says, with a pout, “I walk, but I’m scared to ask questions. They’ll know if I ask what a _hrat_ is.”

“You mean a hat?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I can understand that.” Bokuto smiles, “But you’re perfectly welcome in my home anytime. I can answer any question you got.”

Iwaizumi pauses, flicking his tail beneath the water. His eyes dilate, and his head tips, “Really?”

“Mhhmm! Although, I’ll warn ya’, I’m not that smart.”

“You seem pretty smart to me.” Iwaizumi shrugs, long eyelashes falling against his tanned skin.

And really, it’s not like Iwaizumi _knows –_ how could he know? That Bokuto doesn’t think he’s all that smart – that he quit college to be here, of all places.

So chokes a little, and smiles, his heart thumping against his chest. He turns around to thank him, but the merman is gone.

He kept the hat.

* * *

 

“This is a radio, right?”

“Yep!” Bokuto grins, as he cooks. Iwaizumi is wearing Bokuto’s clothes; he fits really well in them, actually. With his legs, they’re roughly the same height, Bokuto just a tad taller, and a _smidge_ bigger.

Still, the sweatpants look good like that – low on Iwaizumi’s hips, the warm skin visible between his shirt and the elastic.

“Humans really like music.” Iwaizumi thinks aloud, trailing his thumb against the edge of the dial.

“Yeah, we’re not all that different.” Bokuto smirks, and flips the omelet in the pan.

Iwaizumi visibly swallows, before he steps away from the radio.

“So…” Bokuto begins, “My turn for a question.”

“Okay.” Iwaizumi turns, hands in the pockets. His body language is relaxed; he doesn’t look awkward on legs – he must’ve been telling the truth earlier. Bokuto loses his train of thought, instead, thinking of Iwaizumi prodding around on land, people watching, silent and lost.

“Bokuto?”

“Sorry.” Bokuto blinks. He slides the omelet onto a plate, and says, “So uh, how does the tail thing work?”

Iwaizumi grins, and takes a seat on Bokuto’s worn out couch, “When I’m submerged in salt or lake water, it grows.”

“So you won’t transform in a bathtub?”

“That thing in the water room?”

“Yes.”

“No, then.” Iwaizumi shakes his head, amused, “I won’t shift.”

“Interesting.” Bokuto smiles, and hands Iwaizumi a fork and plate. He takes it with a gracious nod, folding his strong, human legs beneath him. Bokuto watches him take a bite, and grins when Iwaizumi’s face softens.

“Humans have better food.” Iwaizumi states. “Most mermaids go ashore to eat, when they can.”

“I’m sure.” Bokuto settles in next to him, crossing his legs as well.

There’s something intimate, here. His old home creaks, the room smelling like good food, and soft blankets. The crickets sing outside, and the owls hoot with them.

Bokuto watches him eat, again, that bubbly feeling in his chest as he digs into his own omelet. Iwaizumi is just…ridiculously pretty, and super adorable, and his voice is _so so nice,_ and just, _agh._ He makes Bokuto want to sing, or tuck him away and keep him forever.

“What are you looking at?” Iwaizumi says suddenly, eyebrow raised.

Bokuto jumps a little, and giggles behind his hand, “Sorry, sorry.”

“What?”

“You’re very pretty.” Bokuto admits, cheeks a little pink, but earnest. “Very, very pretty.”

“Oh.” Iwaizumi says, looking down at himself, as if he could see it as something tangible. He looks back up to Bokuto, “Is that why you invited me here?”

“Huh?”

“Because of how I look?”

“No, no.” Bokuto smiles, relaxing more into the chair, “I also think you’re super cool. But, I dunno’. The pretty thing probably had _some_ factor in it.”

Iwaizumi hides a smile behind a bite of egg, turning his eyes back out of the window. “You too.”

“What?”

“You too.” Iwaizumi repeats, “Everyone talks about you.”

“E-everyone?” Bokuto half laughs.

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi shrugs, “Especially the girls. Whenever you chop wood, they come out to watch.”

Bokuto isn’t too sure what to do with that information, but instead, he’s more focused on the worried tug on Iwaizumi’s bottom lip. It takes him a moment to piece the bits together, connecting the puzzle. Bokuto smiles, wide, and pretty, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi bites, “ _Ooh, the boatman is here,_ they say. It’s fucking annoying.”

Bokuto laughs at the curse, and leans across the short distance to bump their shoulders together, “You sound a little jealous there, buddy.”

Iwaizumi looks to him, those sharp, animalistic eyes searching him. His lips fall back into that smirk, “No, not really, because _I_ am here, and _they_ are not. _”_

The crickets continue to sing, and Bokuto continues to laugh.

 

* * *

 

The merman comes more often. Iwaizumi usually shows up sometime during his day, whether if to perch on the side of his boat, or eat dinner together.

Bokuto really, _really_ enjoys the company. Iwaizumi is actually far, far from the quiet mermaid stereotype. The more they talk, the more Iwaizumi blooms, smiling, laughing, speaking more sharply with his words.

Still, Iwaizumi is gorgeous. Still, Bokuto wants to pull him close and press his nose to the crevice between his shoulder, and his neck, right below those scars.

Ah, but yet, Bokuto is happy where they are now. He’s happy as they listen to the radio; he’s happy as Iwaizumi tells stories, of far off lands with far off books. Bokuto is really, really happy.

Even more so the night he waves goodbye at his doorstep. Iwaizumi prepares to slip off the borrowed clothes – prepares to return back home – but Iwaizumi does lean the short distance between them, strong, purposeful hands tugging on the hair behind Bokuto’s neck, and slotting their mouths together smoothly.

It doesn’t last more than a few seconds before Iwaizumi is gone. Still, Bokuto presses his fingers against his lips and smiles wildly, his heart too big for his chest.

* * *

 

They’re giggly and soft here, in Bokuto’s bed.

Iwaizumi rolls around like a snuggly cat, happy in the blankets. Bokuto can only press close and laugh; oh how _happy_ he was, the day he found out that Iwaizumi is the biggest cuddler known to man.

“Happy?”

“So much better than at home.” Iwaizumi says, twisting to grab a handful of the soft blanket, and also a tuft of Bokuto’s hair. “Fucking _a lot_ better.”

“What do you sleep on underwater?”

“Plants.” He answers, wiggling and twisting, rolling so that Bokuto rests against his own chest. Bokuto only follows along, pulling the blanket over them.

“That sounds awful.”

“It is.”

“Sleep here.” Bokuto says, wiggling up the sturdy body beneath him, resting his head against a warm shoulder.

“Okay.” He answers, just like that, easy as pie.

And he does, from then on.

Iwaizumi tangles his fingers in Bokuto’s hair – his new favorite hobby, apparently. It feels really nice, Iwaizumi’s nails long. He smells fresh; far from fishy, actually. Bokuto rolls to breathe it in, laughing when Iwaizumi’s breath hitches.

* * *

 

Iwaizumi may complain, but Bokuto knows he loves the water.

He sits on his boat, the kind boatman, watching as Iwaizumi paddles around. He really is something else; a different kind of beauty entirely.

It takes Bokuto a while to figure it out; to understand why his heart squeezes so much around him. He thinks, maybe, it’s the loneliness – but Bokuto watches him squirm and wiggle in the water, happy, and free, and Bokuto understands his heart at last.

* * *

 

It’s hard to imagine a life without Iwaizumi there. They go to the farmer’s market together, Iwaizumi helping him carry the barrels of fish from his truck. They sleep together now, cold toes and warm noses squished close. They hold hands together, sometimes, as they walk the mountain trail leading from Bokuto’s home. Sometimes… _sometimes…._ on rare moons, Iwaizumi will sing to him.

What they say is true, you know, about a mermaid’s voice being the true window to the soul.

The don’t confess, really. There’s never a moment of _please be my boyfriend,_ or _I l-like you!_

It’s more just: natural. Them. The kind boatman and the merman.

They fall for each other, and they fall together. Bokuto sells his fish, and Iwaizumi swims.

A simple life, but one made so much richer, now with each other.

* * *

 

Nights like these are Bokuto’s favorite, in all honesty.

Nights where Iwaizumi’s eyes fill with color, and his breath becomes so full of life.

Nights where clothes slump to the floor, and mouths kiss across stomach planes.

Again, the owls sing, and a few wolves coo with them. It’s of no concern to Bokuto, though. He fed the birds, and he left the scraps for the wolves. They’ll be fine.

Their mouths press in kisses quick and perfect, hands tugging on hair and knees slotting between thighs. Bokuto hovers above him, kissing Iwaizumi like his very life depends on it, because it feels like it does in all honesty.

Iwaizumi drinks him in, pulling and tugging and prodding, until he has Bokuto on his back, and his thigh against his lips.

He bites, sharp teeth breaking skin, but Bokuto only gasps, back arching eyes squeezing shut.

Piercing nails, piercing eyes, spread thighs and forgotten bottles of lube.

Quick fingers, even quicker breaths, shallow thrusts and broken headboards.

Iwaizumi is truly gorgeous, round biceps and strong thighs, all honeyed skin and deep baritone words.

Although, it’s Iwaizumi’s mouth that undoes Bokuto at the seams. His kisses are wet like his home, slow, like he wants to memorize _everything_ about Bokuto there is.

Afterwards – when their skin cools, and their hearts slow, they press together once more, this time to sleep and breathe and sleep and breathe.

* * *

 

“It’s a nice day.” Iwaizumi says, Bokuto’s old hat atop his head. The sun shines, and the water ripples sweetly.

“Yeah.” Bokuto smiles, an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, “A perfect day to go swimming.”

Iwaizumi eyes him with a smile, and elbows him just for fun, before slipping an arm around his waist. “Let’s go inland.”

“To the city?”

“Mhm. There’s more things I haven’t learned yet.”

Bokuto hesitates, before he smiles, twisting to press a kiss against his temple, “Alright. Where do you want to go?”

“I dunno.” Iwaizumi twists, looking up at him through those sharp eyes, “Surprise me.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit, check out mal's art of [ merman iwaizumi](http://screamingshark.tumblr.com/post/146388931204/this-city-swallowed-by-the-oceans-deep-the-ice)


End file.
